At the morgue
by BBCRULES
Summary: This is my first fan-fiction. Given I am not a native speaker, this has been a hard work yet I have been very happy to write it. The story is based on my imagination on the TRF episode, things that might have happened since Sherlock saw Molly after meeting so-called Richard Brook. I do not own any of the characters. Thank you for kind tips. I'm learning;)


This was my first story...two months ago after I watched whole 6 episodes.

With about two months at site, I decided to revise my early works. A lot to fix, I suppose:)

This is a start of my Reichenbach story.

At the morgue - Fall - Surprise (* Christmas Surprise) - Sebastian Moran's Journal -26 wonders -Life goes on.

* * *

**PROLOGUE: **

The weather was too warm for March. A black car appeared out of nowhere and stopped.

A lagged dark-haired man was pushed out of the car door and almost stumbled in disorientation. His footsteps were unsteady; he looked starved and sleep-deprived. Yet, his face glowed with rapture and satisfaction. His eyes were gleeful with a wicked smile. He sat at a nearby bench and looked around. The London Eye was close. He bought a coffee from a convenient store. He glanced up, found CCTV, and smiled wickedly at the camera. He blew a kiss and slowly mouthed,

"Say hello to Sherlock, Mr. Mycroft Holmes."

He dumped his mobile into a trash bin, got on a cab and disappeared into fog.

* * *

**MOLLY HOOPER**

**JUNE 11Tth – 12th **

Puffy eyes, dark circles and exhaustion...

She knew the next few hours would be critical for _him_. She had no idea why Sherlock had to fake his death. Her hunch was right – he had some reason to look sad when John was not looking. She sipped her coffee, the third mug. It was past five in the morning.

After Sherlock left, she worked on a John Doe, preparing the body look like _him_. She had to make a short trip to _his_ flat. Mrs. Hudson didn't know – it was about 2 o'clock in the morning and she had _his_ key.

Back to the mortuary. she dyed John Doe's hair, used her iron to give the some curls and finally dressed him in the purple shirt, a navy coat and a scarf. The body almost looked like Sherlock. She hid the body in one of the slots of the cold chamber.

A minute felt like an hour. More coffee. A couple hours ago, _his_ brother sent the things that _he_ had required: a mobile and money(and a credit card) under her name, Molly Hooper. Her eyes lingered at a large backpack that held a pair of faded jeans, a grey hoody, a baseball cap, and a pair of glasses.

A pint of _his_ blood in a couple of heparin-treated plastic bags... She gave them to an old woman as instructed about half an hour ago.

* * *

On signal, Molly was waiting right behind the side door, hidden in shadows with a trolly of the John Doe.

Her heart pounding and her hands sweaty, she grasped the white clothes covering the body.

_There they were!_

The "doctor" and "staff" rolling Sherlock's trolly approached; _he_ jumped out and ran behind the door. She took off the white clothes; the people rolled the trolley into the building, pushing the other empty one into the parking lot – nothing strange about it: normally there are a couple of trolleys or wheel chairs in the Bart's perimeter.

She hasted her way back to the mortury- a suicide and she was being summoned.

The buzzer rang signaling a new body's arrival. She didn't even have a glance at it. She pushed it into the chamber.

She turned on the computer and uploaded the digital photos that had been taken the previous night. – Sherlock lying down on a slab with some blood on his face and hair. He looked like a bashed and mangled body from a fall. A few close-up photos would work fine for the autopsy reporting.

A low whistle in the side room.

She hurried to open the door. The detective was wiping the blood off his face and hair. Pointing at the backpack, she told him to change.

"Leave your clothes here. Your brother will claim them later."

Her eyes followed the pale man searching for any injuries. He looked unbelievably o.k. for a man who just took a 40-feet fall, a few bruises on his face. He winced when he moved his right leg.

"Some sprains or cracks"

She murmured and gave an ice pack to him with a couple of painkiller tablets.

"Your brother is on his way for body identification. The Police, I mean Lestrade, will take longer to get here. Mr. Holmes will see to it that neither John nor Lestrade can check the body. "

Sherlock looked like a typical med student in the new outfit and glasses. She handed him the mobile and wallet.

"They are under my name. Your brother pays the bills. Move out after dark. Here is a doctor's gown. Med student are supposed to wear it so you will blend in nicely."

Sherlock nodded, put on the gown, and whispered. "Molly?"

His face was tense. She looked up. She barely heard his next words.

"Can…you…check on… him? For me? "

_John, poor John, who had just witnessed his best friend die._

Her eyes burned; tears ran down her cheeks. She gave him a small nod.

"Thank you for everything. Molly. Until next time."

* * *

It was past 10:30. Mycroft Holmes was not here yet. She fidgeted with her hands, feeling nervous.

_What if Lestrade wants to see the body? How can I refuse John? _

Somebody knocked.

_I would have to wing it, buying time. Puffy red eyes with tears, enough to fool John or Lestrade._

She found Mycroft Holmes outside the door.

"I'm sorry. Mr. Holmes."

"Thank you. Dr. Hooper. Traffic. I'm a little bit late. Is it my brother, Sherlock?"

She looked awed at Mycroft's nonchalance and calm.

"Yes, it was him. Would you want to…"

Mycroft shook his head slightly and signed the required document as the closest kin.

"Here is the court order to stop the body from being examined given the scandal involving my brother. My funeral house, the one the Holmes family has been using, will contact you in half an hour -closed service and all."

They stared at the bloody clothes that Sherlock had taken off, wondering where the detective would be.

The door banged opened. Greg Lestrade literally rushed in.

"It's not true, is it? Is it really him? That idiot!"

His confused eyes were frantic and he stumbled. His eyes locked on the Sherlock's things - bloody navy coat, a blue scarf, purple shirt, the purse and ID - on a table, the trademark that the yarders often laughed at as a lack of any fashion sense. The presence of Mycroft confirmed the unbelievable fact. Sherlock Holmes just took his life. The older Holmes glared at Lestrade. The DI cringed pitifully. She opened her mouth, yet couldn't say anything.

"I just checked his body. No further messing with the body. My brother deserves a rest from prying eyes and rumors."

Mr. Holmes voice made Lestrade freeze. The DI opened his mouth but no words came out of it. He shook his head and wiped his face with sleeves.

"I'll check on John."

Lestrade dragged himself out. Mycroft's mobile alerted a message. He checked the text and said,

"I'd better leave now. I can't be away from the office too long. Thank you for your service, Dr. Hooper. His things… the mortician will get them for me. I'll contact John for his funeral. "

The door shut softly. She stared blankly at _his _clothes on the table.

* * *

She put the clothes into a bag, and arranged documents as required. She was working on the papers when the door opened quietely. John stood there. She tried to offer a few comforting words to the doctor.

"John. I'm so…sorry. I…I…heard someone fell from the rooftop. Never dreamed it would be…Sherlock."

Her words became a hiccupy sobbing.

"Molly. Let me see him. I need to see. I have to."

John was desperate. He grabbed her arms with both hands and shook her.

"I have to. Let me see his face once more. He was warm when I took his pulse. I could feel his temperature. He can't be dead. It's a magic trick. He is fooling me. Let me see him."

John was trembling in disbelief and denial.

"No, John. Mr. Mycroft Holmes checked the body. He…got a court order. No one can see the body. He said he needed to protect his little brother from prying eyes and rumors."

John cursed.

"Did he dare to say that? He caused Sherlock's death! He gave the perfect weapon to…him…"

At his outburst, she flinched. Her face changed slightly. She asked tentatively to the doctor who was trembling.

"I'm not supposed to but I can show you the autopsy photos…"

John slouched onto a chair when he saw the autopsy photos – Sherlock so pale and peaceful although his face was all bloody.

" Time of Death, 9:48. John, I am so…sorry. Mycroft will contact you for the funeral service."

Her calm voice changed in alarm. John was bleeding on his right hand.

"Were you hurt? Let me see your hand"

John waved her off. His face was blank – all the desperation was gone.

"I am fine. Lestrade got black eyes. I can do worse on the Yarders especially Donavan and Anderson."

John staggered up and turned his back.

"I'll have to tell Ms. Hudson."

"John, I can get you a taxi."

"Thank you. But I'm fine. I can manage."

The door shut. She sat down on her chair and wrapped her face with her hands. She stayed there for a long time as if she were praying.


End file.
